


Boys of Summer

by sanguisuga



Series: Boys of Summer [1]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But They're Teens - 16/17, First Love, Flashbacks, Holmes Bro Feels, M/M, Recovered Memories, Summer Romance, Tagged Underage, Teen Romance, beach holiday, eventual Mystrade, good ones though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10129817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: Mycroft muses over the recovered memories of his summer before entering Uni - and of the boy who captured his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, my muse has distracted me from my good intentions. This is something that I've been working on in bits and pieces, and I have most of it written up, I just need to fill in the gaps. I'm posting this kinda-sorta teaser now mostly because I need a little boost, and I'd like to see what kind of reaction it gets. 
> 
> So please do comment if you are so inclined, and let me know if you're looking forward to seeing more!
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies - mmmmmwah!!

It had been an unusual day.

Not in the sense that anything truly disconcerting had happened, it was just that Mycroft had felt - well - _off_ , almost from the moment he lifted his head from the pillow at his usual ungodly hour. It was as though his head wasn’t properly screwed onto his shoulders, his body operating on blind autopilot. And although Anthea hadn’t mentioned anything to him specifically, Mycroft knew that she must have picked up on his odd mood, as his workload had magically reduced itself by half its normal volume even before luncheon.

She had come to chase him out of the office at half-five, her usual reserved if snarky demeanour overlaid with one of forced cheerfulness. In truth, Mycroft had acquiesced to the unspoken demand for his early departure mostly to escape the rather frightening rictus that his personal assistant had donned to attain her goals. He shuddered now to even think on it - all dead eyes and gleaming sharp teeth, a shark circling in search of prey.

He grasped his tumbler of scotch a bit tighter as he brought it to his lips, shaking his head slightly. It was like there was something in there that wanted out, that needed to be acknowledged; but for the life of him, he couldn’t suss out what it possibly could be. Mycroft sighed with irritation as he felt a vague itchiness under his skin, in his brain. He suddenly couldn’t abide the low strains of the classical music streaming through the built-in speakers in his study, even though it usually served as a balm to soothe his troubled mind.

With that strange jumpiness crowding at the top of his throat, Mycroft snatched up the remote and started flipping through radio channels. Brainless talk shows and interminable adverts and good Lord, what even was _that_ noise all about? He finally settled on something that seemed to be mostly pop and rock from the late 70s and early 80s, feeling an awkward sense of nostalgia roiling underneath his breastbone.  

It wasn’t like he actively tried to keep his childhood and teenage memories locked away, but they weren’t exactly useful in his everyday life, were they? He hadn’t deleted any of them, nor relegated anything to permanent storage, it had all just been - partitioned. Tucked away into the corners of the echoing recesses of his mental storage facility, quite austere compared to the rather fanciful Mind Palace of his little brother’s design.

Mycroft sipped at his scotch and closed his eyes as he let those remembrances run free to the tune of Queen and David Bowie, laughing quietly as he recalled dancing with himself in his darkened bedroom to emulate Billy Idol. As a sixteen-going-on-seventeen year-old boy with embarrassing spots and an unfortunate retention of baby-fat around his middle, it had been far too easy for Mycroft to imagine himself dancing alone in the dark for his entire life.

But then... There was a shift in the music filtering in through his consciousness, the words only barely registering as he set his glass down with a thunk.

_‘But I can see you,_  
_your brown skin shining in the sun_  
_you got your hair combed back_  
_and your sunglasses on, baby_  
_I can tell you my love for you will still be strong_  
_after the boys of summer have gone.’_

He tilted his head as something else slipped from the almost overwhelming rush of memories, a hazy recollection of harried breath in his ear, a desperate sense of yearning, of sticky heat and scratchy sand, of, of... Mycroft’s eyes flashed open as he sucked in a gasp of air, nearly choking on it. Of that last summer of his childhood - the summer before Uni.

He had been so very brown, that first boy of his. Brown as a nut, his hair and eyes so dark, so compelling. Such a mysterious and intimidating figure until he had openly flashed that bright grin, his teeth seeming a bit over-large for his mouth... Except for the fact that everything about him had been utterly perfect, hadn’t it? Finely beautiful, almost angelic features, even with that rather impressive chin that he had yet to grow into. A lithe form simply overflowing with easy grace and with a forthrightness in his expression that could be read as arrogance, until one actually spoke to him. And oh yes, that voice, so tender in its inherent sensuality, undercut with the rough gravel of a West Country accent.

Mycroft waited until the song had come to its bittersweet end, muting the sound before anything else could intrude on his rampaging thoughts. He leant back in his desk chair and contemplated. How could he have treated his first so shamefully? Tucking this lovely creature away in a dark corner of his mind, his warm light fighting to shine forth... His first - and perhaps _only_ \- love. Yes, it had been an innocent love, perhaps even an ignorant one, but it had been love all the same. Mycroft knew absolutely that if either one of them had been asked to lay their lives down for the other in that sweetly endless moment that neither would have hesitated.

They had been utterly devoted to each other for that one night, and even though moments like that did not come along all too often, he had chosen to cast it aside. He felt his cheeks burning with shame, but as the memories were allowed to linger, as he expanded his inner sight, the warmth in his face began to suffuse down into his chest and even lower, besides.

Looking back on it now, of course the boy hadn’t _actually_ been perfect. Mycroft had lived enough in the three decades since then to know that such an individual could not possibly exist. But - oh - at the time...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am impatient...
> 
> Please read, please comment - let me know if you want more!

It had been a family trip to Somerset, of all places. They had always travelled to Sussex in the past, but Mummy had magicked up a long-distant relative that apparently lived near the area, and so off they had gone. Mycroft did recall he and Sherlock being introduced to a tall if strangely crooked individual, but he also remembered being more interested in the book he had brought along than in the women's halting conversation. And Sherlock had of course been far more occupied with secretively filching the sweets that their mysterious cousin had stashed away in her frankly enormous handbag, despite Mycroft’s hushed attempts to get him to stop.

Mummy had finally told the boys to go play while she caught up with the virtual stranger that shared her blood, and they had obediently trooped off to explore the pier. Sherlock had always been the more active of the two of them, and it wasn’t long before his twitchy feet and boundless enthusiasm had carried him almost beyond Mycroft’s sight.  

“Sherlock!” Annoying little git... Mycroft paused as he cupped his hands around his mouth, once again hollering his little brother’s name.  _ “Sherlock!” _ Ah well. He took a few more hesitant steps before clambering up onto the handrail and pulling his book out of his back pocket. He settled in and began to read. The little terror would have to come back along this way eventually...

“Oi!” Mycroft startled at the harsh call, his finger automatically marking his spot as he looked up from the page. “This’un yourn?” 

Mycroft grimaced as Sherlock squirmed under the boy’s firm hand, sighing from deep in his belly. “What’s he done now?” Said belly flipped as the stranger smirked at him from underneath his sunglasses. 

“Damn near knocked old man Johnson on his arse, but it tain’t like he dun’t deserve it.” The boy tossed a thumb over his shoulder to where a gang of younger children was loitering on the other side of the pier. “No real harm done. Gave me n’ m’mates a bit of a chuckle, that’s all.”

Mycroft cleared his throat as he clumsily dismounted from the handrail, all too aware of the ridiculous floppy hat that Mummy had insisted he put on to keep his face from turning into nothing but one huge ginger spot. He took hold of Sherlock’s arm, tugging him closer as the stranger pushed him in his direction. “Well, I’m glad that at least  _ someone _ was amused by his antics.” Mycroft stood straighter, fighting the urge to pull his little brother in front of him to act as a human shield for his knobbly knees and podgy tum. “Thank you for returning the tiny blaggard.”

“No trouble t’all.” The boy started to walk toward his friends, but turned back to the brothers briefly. “Maybe we’ll see yas around?”

“Um.” Mycroft swallowed past a dry click in his throat as Sherlock fidgeted by his side. The boy was clearly a local, going by the dark shade of his - ahem - bare torso and long limbs, not to mention his delightfully coarse accent. He tried to shrug casually as the boy ducked his head and looked at him from above his shades, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. “I expect you just might - we’re here for another week or so...”

“Brill!” With a cheery wave and a hopelessly enchanting smile, the boy ran off to gather his friends around him like a mother hen with her chicks, the entire gang galloping off like a single multi-limbed abomination onto the sand. 

Sherlock giggled maliciously as he shook his arm free from Mycroft’s loose grip, lessening the blow by reaching up to take his hand instead. “I always knew you were a filthy deviant, Mycie. But I never would have guessed that you would have stooped as low as - that.” 

Mycroft turned a calculating look on his precocious little brother (aged eight and one third), his heart hammering in his chest. How much had Sherlock seen - how much had Mycroft revealed without even realising it? Was Sherlock going to be disgusted with him for his preference for those of his own gender? He’d known about his own inclination for a long time, of course, but Mycroft had also known better than to think anything like  _ that _ would ever happen to him - it wasn’t like he even had that many friends oh God what if Sherlock tattled to Mummy and Daddy what would happen then? Sure, he was going off to Uni but if they didn’t approve, if they withdrew their support he’d have nothing oh God...

Mycroft tilted his head, speaking softly but with conviction. “Sherlock, I’m quite sure I haven’t the slightest...”

“Oh yes you do.” Sherlock’s quicksilver eyes were wide, his sweet voice hissing slightly through the gap that the last of his baby teeth had left behind. He gestured vaguely in the direction that the boy had gone. “That.” Mycroft’s heart stilled in his chest for the longest of moments until his little brother’s cheeks dimpled with an easy smile, his small hand squeezing at his reassuringly. “Dreadfully common. You can do  _ so _ much better, brother mine.”

“Why, you little...” Sherlock endured the ruffling of his curls for about a half a second before letting out a squawk and trying to knock Mycroft’s hand from his head. Mycroft abruptly crouched by his little brother’s side, mostly in an attempt to keep his knees from simply buckling. However, since he was already down here... “Come on, then.” Mycroft grinned as Sherlock took in breath on a happy little gasp. “Up you get.” He grunted quietly as Sherlock clambered up on his back, slowly rising to his full height as he hooked his hands under his knees. 

Sherlock squealed as he was bounced, keeping his arms looped tight around his big brother’s neck until Mycroft made an exaggerated choking sound. He relented in his hold and sighed exasperatedly in his mount’s ear as Mycroft turned back toward the shore, subconsciously seeking a particular figure amongst the many cavorting along the tideline. He hoped it wasn’t entirely his imagination that supplied the hazy vision of a lanky lad turning and waving jauntily at the pair still stranded on the pier.  

Shaking himself, Mycroft slowly started walking back toward Mummy and Ms. Whatsherwhosits, giving the odd skip and bounce along the way just to listen to his little brother’s breathless giggles. He took his time, his steps weaving around and between various obstacles along the boardwalk, benches and rubbish bins alike. The women seemed to be wrapping up their conversation as the brothers approached, as they were embracing somewhat awkwardly. Mummy’s long-distant cousin smiled when she saw them, and Mummy herself looked at them with an embarrassing sheen of tears in her eyes at the apparent tableau of sweetness that they were presenting. Mycroft quietly shushed Sherlock as he scoffed in his ear, carefully crouching down so he could climb off.    

Ms. Whatsherwhosits tinkled a surprisingly high-pitched giggle at them as she dug around in her handbag. “I could swear I had some sweeties in here for you two, but perhaps I left them at home by mistake! I am such a forgetful thing, after all...” Each member of the assembled party pretended not to hear the distinctive crinkling of candy wrappers as Sherlock hastily stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “Violet, it was a pleasure. Phone me later, and we can work out the details of another get-together before you go home.” Pausing only to place a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders, instinctively understanding that any physical contact beyond that would not strictly be appreciated, Ms. Whatsherwhosits took her leave. 

Mummy sighed as she turned to them. “I do hope you didn’t eat them all, Sherlock, or else the lovely dinner that your Father is preparing for us back at the cottage will have to go to waste on your account.”

Sherlock fidgeted as he toed at the wooden slats of the pier. “No, Mummy.” He extracted a small fist from his left pocket, a few shiny wrappers poking from between his fingers. “This is all I ate.” Mycroft cupped his hands and held them out as Sherlock began to root out the unopened sweets from his other pocket. He shook his head at his little brother’s sheepish expression as his treasures were relinquished, meeting Mummy’s eyes as they both held back on their laughter. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Mummy held out her own handbag and watched as Mycroft carefully tipped the stolen bounty into it. She turned a disapproving look on Sherlock and clucked her tongue. “I shall expect you to write an apology to Cousin Susanna at your nearest convenience. Namely, as soon as we get back.”

“Yes, Mummy.” 

She closed her handbag with a decisive snap. “Did you two have a good time on your little walkabout?”

Sherlock beamed up at her, ignoring his big brother’s warning nudge at his foot. “Mycie made a new friend!”

Mummy’s eyebrows rose to the middle of her forehead. “Oh, is that so?”

“Hardly.” Mycroft squeezed at the small fingers that were suddenly intertwined with his. “We only talked for two minutes at the most, and the boy was simply ensuring that a certain wee pirate wouldn’t be raising any more ruckus. I don’t even know his name.”

Sherlock looked up at him with a sweetly guileless smile. “But he wanted to know if he’d see you again.”

Mycroft blushed, avoiding his mother’s sudden hawk-like scrutiny. “I do believe that he wanted to know if he and his friends might see the  _ both _ of us again, Lockie. He was just being friendly. Not that you would know anything about that, you little misery.” He began to tug his little brother in the direction of the stone-strewn path that led to the cottage they were letting. “Come. It’s just about time for supper. Isn’t that right, Mummy?”

Violet Holmes nodded her head, following obediently after her eldest and contemplating just what that particular shade of red in his cheeks might mean. “Yes, dearest.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignoring show canon, obviously, since Mummy is actually a kind person here... 
> 
> Some more longing on teen Mycroft's part - let me know what you think!
> 
> *muah*

She discovered what the state of Mycroft’s cheeks meant the very next day, as they were lounging on the beach together in the early afternoon. Both she and her eldest had delicately fair skin and were susceptible to heat stroke, so on their outings to the seashore they tended to band together underneath a large sun umbrella. Sherlock was playing some game of his own devising involving a collection of interesting stones and other ephemera at the edge of the shade when a lean boy with quite the unfairly bronze hue to his skin stepped into her line of sight. 

He paused as Mycroft lifted his head. “Heya.”

“Oh.” Mycroft’s head twitched towards her briefly, and she watched with interest as that glorious shade of red begin to creep over his cheeks. “Hello again.” 

Without a trace of self-consciousness, the boy dropped onto his knees and shuffled under their shelter, politely holding his hand out in Violet’s direction. She pursed her lips as she shook it, amused and impressed all at once. Mycroft cleared his throat. “Violet Holmes, my mother.”

“Mrs. Holmes, it’s a pleasure to meetcha.” 

His smile positively lit up his face, and Violet felt her own cheeks begin to warm slightly. “Violet is perfectly acceptable, young man.” 

She tilted her head as he nodded. “Yes, marm. I’ll remember.” Violet blinked as he turned toward her eldest, a bit taken aback that he had not introduced himself in turn. Her puzzlement turned into astonishment and delight as the boy eagerly leant in Mycroft’s direction, his entire being practically screaming out his infatuation. “And you?”

“M-Mycroft.” Oh dear - her poor boy looked absolutely flustered - what a positively wonderful development! Mycroft recovered swiftly enough as he gestured to his brother, who was watching the scene with narrowed eyes. “And the tiny terror is Sherlock.”

The boy licked his lips as he nodded, his eyes not leaving Mycroft’s face. “I were wondering if ya maybe wanted to join us.” He waved down at the shore, toward a group of children frolicking in the water. 

Mycroft ducked his head briefly before shaking it. “I - I better not. Th-the sun isn’t particularly kind to me.”

The boy’s face fell, but only for a moment. “Maybe later then, when it’s not so brutal, yeah?”

“Um. Yes - perhaps.” 

He turned toward Sherlock, smiling widely as he was surveyed suspiciously. “How about you, little one?” Blinking innocuously, he shuffled back around to face their mother. “Marm?”

Violet didn’t have to ask if her youngest was interested, as he was already on his feet, striving to disguise his obvious eagerness as he stood there with his hands on his hips in a bold stance. “Here, Sherlock.” She waved him forward, reaching for the bottle of suncreme. She winked at the boy as she started to rub a fresh layer on Sherlock’s face and arms. “Just don’t let him go out too far, if you please.”

“No, marm. I keep a close eye on ‘em all.”

“I’m quite sure you do.” She gave Sherlock a small pat on the bum to get him moving, sticking her tongue out at him as he attempted a haughty huff of displeasure. This at least garnered a giggle from the boy, and a sharp intake of breath from her eldest. 

He seemed to hold it in as the boy pushed himself back onto his feet, boldly using Mycroft’s outstretched leg as leverage. They watched in silence as the boy gently guided Sherlock down to the water, one brown hand splayed protectively between his shoulder-blades. Violet nearly snickered as Mycroft drew his legs up to his chest, fairly certain that he was striving to hide a natural if extremely inconvenient reaction to the boy’s charms.

“Was that your new friend, then?”

“Um.” 

Violet bit her tongue to keep from laughing outright. “Didn’t give a name yesterday, either?” Mycroft blinked rapidly as he tried to process the question, silently shaking his head after a few moments. Violet lifted her head as there was a faint shriek from the direction that they had gone, smirking as she caught sight of the lad recklessly swinging Sherlock around in a high circle, his little legs kicking out in terrified glee. There was a crowd of small children milling nearby, an obvious queue forming to be the next to be swung airborne and to have the wits happily frightened right out of them. “A beautiful boy with a beautiful smile - the boy who never grew up.” Mycroft turned to her, his grey eyes so very round in his delightfully red face. She giggled faintly. “He’s Peter Pan, don’t you see?”

_ “Mummy.” _

Violet blithely ignored the obvious reprimand in her son’s voice, waving her hand airily. “Well done, my child.” Mycroft’s face twisted in confusion, and she twiddled her fingers in the boy’s direction. “You’ve caught his attention.” The flush in her son’s cheeks switched from uncertain desire to stark embarrassment, and she could only titter at him in response, leaning closer and dropping her voice as if taking him in her confidence. “Make the most of it, Mycroft. I know you don’t see it now, but these are your halcyon days. Live them to the fullest, and hold your memories fast.” 

“Mother.” Mycroft rolled his eyes as his blush began to drain, now that he was in the unfortunately familiar territory of dealing with an unhinged parent. “I’m not -  _ he’s _ not... It’s nothing. He’s just a very personable fellow.”

Violet sighed, realising that she would have to be satisfied with simply planting the seed rather than expecting her son to bloom fully at only the slightest provocation. They still had a week or so - she might yet see her efforts come to fruition. So rather than continuing to poke and prod, she stood and brushed down her sundress before donning her ridiculously huge floppy hat. 

“I am going to go find your wayward father, and then I believe we shall relive some wonderful memories of  _ our _ early days together.”

Mycroft’s face screwed up with distaste. “Ew.”   

She grinned crookedly. “We’ve nothing on this evening - just whatever’s to hand for supper. Stay out as long as you like.”

Although Mycroft knew that was code for,  _ ‘Keep away from the cottage for at least two hours if you wish to maintain your innocence and retain your sanity,’  _ he wisely chose not to bring that to his mother’s attention. “Thank you, Mummy.” He steadfastly buried his nose in his book again, stubbornly attempting to will his traitorous body into quiescence as she walked away.

It didn’t strictly work, mostly because the distant shrieking laughter of children kept shattering his concentration, and his eyes would automatically seek out the figure of that one damn boy. His mind had already helpfully labelled him ‘Peter’ due to his mother’s inane but oddly appropriate comment, and the boy was doing nothing to dispel the notion as he openly displayed his seemingly boundless and youthful energy. Carrying one child on his shoulders as another clung to his leg, carelessly rolling in the sand while they all piled on top of him, only to send random children scattering as he popped up from their midst like a bloody Jack-in-the-box.

Mycroft sighed as he watched Peter coming up out of the water, his dark hair plastered to his face until he swept it back into awkward spikes, grinning widely at his charges’ gambols. He flopped back on the beach mat as the boy emerged fully, his shorts clinging to him becomingly, his tanned skin glistening with water and looking like something out of a ridiculous fantasy. Mycroft swiftly rolled over to stop something down below from twitching like a speared fish, whimpering into his folded arms as he closed his eyes.

He was never going to survive the next few days, was he?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Hehehe... Poor Mycroft.
> 
> Please do comment - I love hearing from each and every one of you!

Mycroft opened his eyes a great deal of time later feeling sticky and not at all rested, despite the nap that his body had apparently decided it needed. He sat up slowly, his brain dimly registering that his mother had returned from whatever nonsense that she and Father had been up to, as she was once again lounging in the beach chair next to him. Shifting slightly to lean up against her legs, Mycroft hummed quietly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as she combed her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. He gratefully accepted the bottle of water she handed him, the coolness of the liquid doing wonders to revive him.

“Thank you, Mummy.” Mycroft cleared his throat against the slight creak in his voice, smiling to himself as she chuckled at him without malice. With a gentle squeeze at his shoulder, she returned to her book, and Mycroft picked his up from where it had fallen before his unexpected nap. Although there was still a great deal of activity along the water and in the dunes, it was more subdued now, the late afternoon sun having sapped the energy of even the most enthusiastic of holiday-makers. 

Even with thoughts of Peter lingering at the back of his mind, Mycroft found that he was better able to concentrate on the words on the page, getting lost in Machiavellian machinations. It was perhaps a half-hour later that they were once again interrupted, although this time, Mycroft at least saw him coming and so he was able to gird his loins, as it were. 

The boy had his little brother’s limp figure tucked up against his front, his arms crossed securely under Sherlock’s bum as his curly head lolled on his shoulder. Peter grinned that damnable grin as he caught Mycroft’s eye, waiting until he had sauntered closer to shrug nonchalantly. “Little tyke went and wore himself right out.”

Violet clucked sympathetically and held out her arms, accepting the awkward mass of skinny limbs and wilted curls into her lap. She brushed her hand over Sherlock’s forehead as he twitched faintly, smiling up at the boy as he looked at her bashfully. “Thank you for taking such good care of him, lad.”

“T’weren’t no trouble, really.” Peter scratched at his nose as he looked down at Mycroft, a wry twist to the shape of his mouth. “He had a grand time, I’m sure.”

Violet pursed her lips and reached down into her handbag, blindly fishing around for a few notes which she pushed in Mycroft’s direction. “Here, love. Why don’t you go get a treat and buy this lad a little something for looking after your brother, hm?”

“Oh, but...” Mycroft slumped slightly as he caught the look on his mother’s face, the look that told him that the suggestion really wasn’t a suggestion at all - it was a command. He sighed quietly and took the money, shoving it into his pocket as he stood. He had some of his own, of course, but there was no need to share that particular bit of information. “Yes, Mummy.”

Mycroft started to slope off in the direction of the pier, completely missing the silent conversation between Peter and his mother, although the nods, winks and smiles would have no doubt flown right over his rather naïve head. Violet gestured to the hat that her son had left behind, and the boy swept it up before starting to trot after his intended quarry. He impulsively turned back after a couple of steps, darting in to peck her on the cheek gratefully. 

Violet stared after him in shock, her hand flying up to touch the spot as if his lips had scalded her. She looked down into Sherlock’s slack face, shaking her head slightly. “Oh, my poor boy hasn’t a chance against that lad, does he?” Violet giggled quietly as her youngest cracked one eye open and shook his head just the tiniest fraction before turning into her and going utterly limp once again. 

Mycroft turned at the sound of a soft shout, blinking in disbelief as something white launched itself at his chest and fell at his feet. He elevated one eyebrow as Peter stooped in front of him, picking up the sun hat and shaking it loose of sand. The boy grinned somewhat sheepishly as he reached out to perch it delicately on Mycroft’s head. “Sorry, mate. Mum’s orders.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he screwed it down tighter on his head, huffing as he turned back to the boardwalk. “Oh, how lovely. As if she didn’t have enough minions before...” He blushed at the sound of a soft giggle off to his left, but kept his head resolutely turned toward his target, trying to ignore the unusual warmth of someone walking by his side. 

He stopped outside the ice cream shop, staring at the chalkboard menu set up by the door. Fingering the money in his pocket, Mycroft briefly debated about going all out with a toffee sundae, but a swift bolt of shame erupted in his belly when he thought about how that might look to his companion. He unwittingly sucked in his gut a little as he looked at Peter, his dark eyes searching his face.

“Give it here.” Mycroft glanced down at Peter’s outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow in query. The boy shrugged idly and jerked his head toward the open door of the shop. “She knows me - I always get a discount.” He smiled conspiratorially, and Mycroft shook his head as he passed over the cash. “What’ll you have?”

“Um.” Mycroft avoided his eyes. “Just a scoop of vanilla, please.” 

There was a brief pause, and Mycroft felt his body swaying slightly toward Peter as the boy took in a breath, but he didn’t say anything further as he headed into the shop. Mycroft took a seat on a bench nearby that was sheltered in the shadow of the building, taking the hat from his head and trying to smooth down his unruly hair. While it was nowhere near as wild as his little brother’s, it was still inclined toward curliness, especially after having been subjected to sweat and the sea air.  

Even though he knew it was a losing battle, Mycroft persisted until Peter emerged from the shop, holding a cone with two scoops in one hand, and a paper bowl with the other. He sat down next to him and passed the bowl off with a little wink. Mycroft stared down at the generous amount of toffee bits and caramel sauce decorating his scoop as Peter blithely started to nibble and lick at his ice cream. 

He shrugged as Mycroft turned the stare on him. “You’re on holiday, mate. En’t no reason you shouldn’t indulge a bit.” 

Even though Mycroft felt as though his face may simply go up in flames, he muttered a low, “Thank you,” and began to eat. He tried to be as fastidious as he could, but with Peter sitting next to him and making the odd noise of blissful appreciation here and there, he found it absolutely hopeless. When the boy began to lick up the ice cream that had melted and dribbled onto his fingers, humming low as he slipped his thumb into his mouth, Mycroft simply gave up, trying to consume the lot as quickly as possible so his torment would finally end. 

He still felt sticky when it was all gone and his face wiped clean, but he knew that the feeling had absolutely nothing to do with the caramel sauce. Especially as Peter leant in a bit closer and Mycroft’s skin prickled with heat, in spite of the pleasant breeze swirling around them where they were sitting in the shade. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going on a trip tomorrow, so this is probably the only post for this week. I am bringing my tablet, and I'm hoping to get some time in to write, but it's family nonsense, so opportunities might be scarce. (And I'll be in Tucson, where the temps are already in the 90s, so my brain may just melt and I'll be a vegetable and unable to write at all, gdi.)
> 
> Anyhoo! Please read and I hope you enjoy - please comment...
> 
> As always, I adore you all!!!

Mycroft shifted uneasily as his stomach squirmed, turning a speculative look on his companion. Peter was looking off into the distance, a slight smile nudging at his lips. Swallowing hard, Mycroft firmly wiped all thoughts of his beauty from his mind and settled on the one subject that just might keep him mildly irritated enough to curtail any potentially embarrassing nonsense from falling out of his mouth.

“So, how truly horrid was he?”

Peter frowned as he turned to look at him, his head tilting inquisitively before his eyes brightened. “Oh, you mean Sherlock?” He leant back as Mycroft nodded, shrugging idly. “No worse than any of the others, really. He does have a bit of a mouth on ‘im, don’t he?”

“Ugh, you have no idea.”

Peter chuckled softly. “Still. He’s a bright lad.”

“He is, yes. And of course he has to let everybody know just how clever he can be.”

“Aw, like I said though - he’s no worse than any of ‘em. They all have a bit of a show-off in there, like to tell folks about the things they like and all.” Peter laughed again, lifting his legs and swinging them under the bench gently. “We all learnt quite a bit today from your brother’s little lectures.”

Mycroft snorted. “Shall I guess?” He waited for the boy’s gracious nod before twisting his features up into a fierce grimace. “Arr... Pirates, matey.”

Peter’s eyes went round as he fought back on his giggles, going a bit breathless. “Aye, that were it. Calico Jack and Captain Kidd and Bonny and Read... Can’t forgit Blackbeard, o’ course. Think I heard about every single one of ‘em.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and shook his head, fighting the little grin at the corner of his mouth. He stilled as Peter’s face softened slightly, as he blinked at him languidly. “That weren’t all, though. Talked a lot about his big brother too.”

Mycroft took in a sharp breath and nearly choked on it. “Erm, he... What?”

“Oh, yeah - bragging about you going off to University a whole year early and all. He’s very proud of you, ya know.”

“Um. No - I didn’t know.” Peter continued to swing his legs as he fell silent, allowing Mycroft a bit of time to digest this knowledge. He loved his little brother of course, and knew that he was loved in return, but they were both rather inept about demonstrating that to each other. To hear that Sherlock had told a virtual stranger about his achievements, had outright boasted about him - well. Mycroft swallowed hard against the odd sensation of impending tears. Little bugger.

Peter tapped him lightly on the arm before gathering up their trash and disposing of it in a nearby rubbish bin. “C’mon. I want to show you somethin’.”

Mycroft stretched as he stood, freezing almost abnormally still as Peter stared at him unabashedly. He was beginning to get used to the mild fluster that he experienced whenever he was in this boy’s presence, but it always intensified whenever those dark eyes settled on his face, or tripped over his body. He was certain that Peter wasn’t interested, at least not in _that_ way, but of course those looks made him doubt himself. Mycroft couldn’t afford that doubt - he couldn’t allow himself to _hope_ , because of course even if he were courageous enough to act, he wouldn’t be able to stand the rejection. It was an impossibility. It would never _ever_ happen, so he knew better than to allow himself to even imagine that it could.

Mycroft breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Peter turned away, once again ramming his hat on his head as he followed him further down the boardwalk. He resolutely did not look at the boy's beautifully rounded shoulders, nor at the elegant curve of his spine, or even the smooth skin at the nape of his neck, and he absolutely, positively did not drool over the sway of his narrow hips or the tantalising hint of dimples peeking out from the waistband of his loose swim trunks just below the small of his back. Nope. Nuh-uh, no sir...

He stumbled slightly as Peter came to an abrupt stop in front of him, flushing as a calculating look was turned in his direction. But rather than making any kind of sly comment, the boy gestured toward the window of what appeared to be a toy shop. Mycroft blinked and actually put both face and hands to the glass as he peered in at the small wooden sword and felt pirate hat that were propped up in the display. _“Oh.”_

He didn’t have to see the pride in his companion’s face, as he heard it clearly in his voice. “Yeah, thought you might find that interestin’...” Mycroft looked at the price tag hanging from the set, fingering the cash that was still in his pocket. He jolted slightly as Peter nudged him, holding out his fist. “Forgot to give ya your change.”

Mycroft eyed him speculatively as he accepted the coins as well as a couple of crumpled pound-notes. “Surely the discount wasn’t quite _that_ steep.”

Peter blushed and waved away the implications, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he swayed uncertainly in the face of Mycroft’s scepticism. “Nan looks after us, likes to spoil us a bit.” He nodded toward the window. “This here’s Johnson’s shop. He’s not as kind.” Peter frowned slightly. “Never could figure out why he’s got a place where kids are bound to raise a fuss when he seems to hate ‘em so much.” He took a step back and barked out a quiet laugh. “Guess he don’t hate their folk’s money!”

Mycroft smiled faintly as he calculated in his head. He didn’t have enough, not right now, but his parents had never been stingy. He’d have more tomorrow, and the next day, and then perhaps the day after that, he would have one extremely happy little brother. He carefully put the money back in his pocket and looked at Peter closely. “Thank you.”

“T’weren’t no trouble.” Peter took another step back, hesitantly raising his hand. “Mebbe I’ll come find yas tomorrow, take him out to the water again?”

Mycroft swallowed his nerves and nodded. “Please do. I think he’d like that.” His heart plummeted into his stomach as his voice squeaked slightly. “I - I’d like that.” He watched in astonishment as Peter’s face went all red, as the boy turned away from him and started to trot off by himself. Mycroft lifted his hand in farewell as Peter glanced back, basking in the glow of his brilliant smile until his figure had faded from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When this idea occurred to me, it manifested in four distinct parts. (Since then, an epilogue has also popped up, so there will probably be five total.) I've been working on each part separately and attempting to bridge the gaps to connect them all. Since this is how the concept was born, I'm going to post it that way as well. So here is the end of Part I, with Part II soon to follow. Please join me!

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!


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